Guardians Of The Lost Temple
(Prophetic Age)
When the wind blows behind the hills. In the mist you´ll hear
Quakes in the horizon and fear in the air.
Guardians of the lost temple with burnt swords spread suffering to their foes.
Follow the wind, fight with pride. you´re the chosen warrior, nothing would defeat you, nothing.
Wizards cast their spells as the dust waits for the dawn, through unknown land, among bloody ways never sailed.
Don´t be taken by weekness, go by the light of your sword.
Darken your ways and search eternal might
When the sun gets down behind the hills, a new day will
Appear with eternal might for your fellows.
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